February 2024 – Stained Glass Butterfly

Making Sure He Knows

My husband works hard. He has a manual labor job, repairing homes, so he works in the heat, the cold, the rain, and he often comes home dirty, decorated with wayward paint or caulk or various other chemicals and concoctions. He’s been known to strip down in the garage so he doesn’t drag any of the day’s dust or dirt through the house on his way to the shower.

The other day, my car was gracious enough to wait until I had coasted into our driveway after work to decide it suddenly wasn’t going to start anymore. I told my husband I would have it towed the next morning to the mechanic, but he was already getting up. I knew he was tired as hell. I knew having to fix one more thing that evening was not on his list of eagerly anticipated activities. But without hesitation, he got up and said, “Let’s take a look.”

Yesterday he drove me to work, then went to work himself, knowing he had my car waiting for him after he got home. When he picked me up from work, he said he was almost finished with it.

I went inside the house to feed my cat and drop my purse in our bedroom. Before I headed back outside, I paused, because I could see my husband through the window. He was already sprawled beneath my car, legs jutting out, arms up, hard at work, and I just watched him for a moment, with a rush of tenderness.

My husband has been attacked, gossiped about, badmouthed, all by people who could never hope to be even half the person he is. I suspect they know that, too. He is the most honest and giving person I have ever met. I know he was tired and sore from work, but he didn’t think twice about jumping straight in to fix my car. He saw that I needed something. That was all that he needed to know.

I went outside, and he was getting to his feet. He smiled and said, “Just finishing up.”

When I slid into the driver’s seat for the moment of truth, I whispered to my car, “Please start.” It was going to be dark soon, and even though my husband looked worn out, I knew he would keep plugging away until he figured out what was wrong.

My husband stood at the front of the popped-up hood, watching the engine as if he could mentally will it to start, and said, “Give it a try.”

I turned the key, and…VROOM! My car fired right up as if there had never been a problem. I patted the steering wheel and smiled.

Today, after I got to work, he texted me to ask how the car is doing. I told him it was running just fine.

He had actually apologized for taking so long to fix it. That made me a little sad. I think he became so used to being mistreated in the past that he doesn’t even realize how amazing he is.

But I know. And I will spend the rest of my days making sure he knows, too, and believes it, with all his beautiful, thoughtful, gentle heart.

Pathetic

My husband’s ex-wife, Psycho, has never been accused of being overly stable. The instant she found out my husband had moved on after their divorce and found someone new, she launched a stalking and harassment campaign that has spanned over 16 years and shows no sign of slowing down. Lucky me, eh?

While she has been obsessing over me, I have made some observations of my own. For years, I have watched her lie, steal (from her own children at times), backstab, use, manipulate, sneak, gossip, and badmouth, and very little else. It shows.

What has all of this earned Psycho over the years? Let’s see…in 16+ years, Psycho has transformed from a ragingly jealous hag to…a ragingly jealous hag who is 16 years older.

It wasn’t difficult to determine that Psycho is a textbook narcissist. That word gets tossed around a lot these days, slapped onto the forehead of anyone we don’t like, but I mean it in its clinical sense: a mental health disorder in which the person has an unreasonably high sense of their own importance, and the person seeks excessive attention and admiration, while lacking the ability to care about others, even their children.

The passing of time has left its mark on Psycho, as it does all of us. The difference is, after decades of living lie upon lie, desperately trying to force everyone to swallow a false image of herself, Psycho just might be suddenly realizing that instead of building a genuine life, she has devoted all of her time and energy to jealous fits and propping up flimsy fabrications of what she wishes were reality.

The result is nothing less than disastrous. Pushing mid-50s, Psycho has never even minimally supported herself, let alone the kids. The crumbling shack of a trailer she squats in isn’t even hers. It is an act of contemptuous charity by her adoptive mother, who barely tolerates her but wishes to bolster the illusion of Psycho’s normalcy by offering up a place for her to live, under the watchful eye of her enabling father. Dysfunction runs in their blood.

Psycho has managed to obliterate not only two marriages, but every semblance of a relationship she has attempted since then. In all honesty, what does she possibly offer to someone? Dishonesty, mood swings, non-stop complaining, inability to pay her own bills, and oh yeah, an uncontrollable fascination with her ex-husband and his upgrade…what does she possibly hope to attract with that?

When my husband and I first started dating, he used to joke, “Thank you for not being crazy!” We would laugh, but I also knew it wasn’t completely in jest. He has told me how grateful he is to be with someone who doesn’t scream, curse, throw things, threaten, steal from him. We enjoy each other. We have fun together. We respect each other. That is not possible with her, and eventually, everyone discovers that for themselves.

In a nutshell, Psycho has focused so hard on raging against people she is violently jealously of, and trying to force others to believe she is something much grander than she truly is, that she failed to develop as a person, to form any sincere interests, or build an actual life. She is now left standing in the dark with her scraps of props on an empty stage, a discarded character of a show no one is interested in anymore.

I wouldn’t care about any of this if it didn’t impact the kids, but naturally, it does. Their mother is desperately vying for attention in any way she can get it, indiscriminate as to who it comes from. How can they not be embarrassed? The youngest child still lives with her, and Psycho’s mothering skills are loud and clear in this child’s chronic absenteeism from school, which is now nearly 15% of the school year. (That, at least, is nothing new. Psycho has never given a damn about the kids unless they score her likes, praise, and accolades.)

It’s only going to get worse. Narcissists like Psycho don’t suddenly wise up as they age. They deteriorate. They shrivel. They panic as their failures stack up, and their mask rots off. Psycho will be left to stand on the only things she has devoted her pathetic life to: jealousy, anger, bitterness, and endless lies.

Last but not least, this one made me chuckle because of last year’s sad-but-hilarious antics:

If you missed it, don’t worry: click here for last year’s stunt! Wonder what she graciously ordered for herself this year? The more things change…well, you know the rest.